I believe that one simply must be nice to oneself & holding that maxim close, I am on the hunt for new eyeglasses, very probably 2 pair because I like myself a lot. I have been poking about the cool frame shops in Portland trying on new looks.
I don't intend to get all Aschenbach on your ass, but they break my heart with their careless beauty & their guiless youth. I see this "type" around Portland: their skinny jeans artfully-casually tucked into really great boots that look for all the world to be from a Victorian farmer's mudroom, with a reveal of colorful socks. Add in the ironic tee shirt under suspenders & a vintage vest, a pork-pie hat, fedora, or newsboy cap to top off the "different" look, one of their many wallet chains, & then they are off to a dive bar to order a PBR & blend in with a bunch of guys just like them. I see them on the MAX train with their chunky Buddy Holly eyewear & I think to myself: "Could I be young just one more time?" I love the Portland kid's look; if I were to temper it just a bit to reflect my considerable experience & acknowledge my 6 decades on this blue, twirling orb, maybe I could I pull off a slightly more mature version of this look?
I slipped on the quintessential heavy framed glasses, letting go of black frames & choosing a dark tortoise shell to go with my redhead skin tone. I took 10 steps with my back to the mirror & spun around to surprise myself with my much older version of a James Franco look, or the stylish, but lived-in face of Colin Firth of A Single Man, & there I was... a corpulent, crabby fossil looking like an enfeebled Jewish movie producer in a caftan, circa 1970. A gay Robert Evans or a butch Allan Carr, either way I am learning a valuable lesson: no chunky art school glasses, no Arcade Fire on any playlist & no pork-pie hat.
I don't intend to get all Aschenbach on your ass, but they break my heart with their careless beauty & their guiless youth. I see this "type" around Portland: their skinny jeans artfully-casually tucked into really great boots that look for all the world to be from a Victorian farmer's mudroom, with a reveal of colorful socks. Add in the ironic tee shirt under suspenders & a vintage vest, a pork-pie hat, fedora, or newsboy cap to top off the "different" look, one of their many wallet chains, & then they are off to a dive bar to order a PBR & blend in with a bunch of guys just like them. I see them on the MAX train with their chunky Buddy Holly eyewear & I think to myself: "Could I be young just one more time?" I love the Portland kid's look; if I were to temper it just a bit to reflect my considerable experience & acknowledge my 6 decades on this blue, twirling orb, maybe I could I pull off a slightly more mature version of this look?
I slipped on the quintessential heavy framed glasses, letting go of black frames & choosing a dark tortoise shell to go with my redhead skin tone. I took 10 steps with my back to the mirror & spun around to surprise myself with my much older version of a James Franco look, or the stylish, but lived-in face of Colin Firth of A Single Man, & there I was... a corpulent, crabby fossil looking like an enfeebled Jewish movie producer in a caftan, circa 1970. A gay Robert Evans or a butch Allan Carr, either way I am learning a valuable lesson: no chunky art school glasses, no Arcade Fire on any playlist & no pork-pie hat.
The dream: Adorkable Darren Criss of Glee... photo by Robert Caplin for NY Times
The reality: Truman Capote by Irving Penn
